The Willow In The Ruins
by lilmisswritergal4eva82719511
Summary: NextGenFic. Sally knew she was going to go to Bloor's Academy eventually. But she certainly wasn't ready for juggling her newfound endowment, the new friends - and enemies - she's made, a ghost haunting the ruins at night, and her homework all together.
1. And You Can Try On My Clothes

**A/N: I'M BACK. I died for a month (ew. Exams) but my last one was today (ew. Science) and I'M BACK. It also helps that PULL's back up and I have something pushing me to write more. :) So this is something I've wanted to do for a while (as you can see on my profile) and I'm glad I decided to **_**finally**_** do **_**something**_** on my "definitely list." Just note that the chapters might occasionally be shorter than we'd all like, for the mere fact that I am hoping to finish a novel by the end of the summer, as well as do this, which I'm hoping will be at least halfway done by the end of the summer. On the average day, I'd have to write about 8-9 pages for the novel and another page and a half to 2 pages to have decent-sized chapters for this. So this summer will be filled with hours upon hours upon **_**hours**_** of writing.**

**Oh, summer – how I love you. NOW LET THIS STORY COMMENCE!**

**Disclaimer: I own like, fifty percent of this (plot, characters, setting… For which I feel pretty awesome) and the rest belongs to the **_**lovely**_** Jenny Nimmo. I don't own Big Time Rush either.**

* * *

><p>I love my father, I really do.<p>

See, my dad and I have been close for, well… forever. It was always him and me. We always looked out for each other and took care of one another. We stuck together like glue and were definitely best friends. And, being the good daughter I was, I would _never_ do anything to cause him harm, pain, or stress for the mere purpose of my own personal satisfaction.

"I cannot _believe_ you! This is the fifth time this month!"

Try telling _him_ that.

I looked up from my Math book, rested my chin on my left palm, and angled my head to the right about forty-five degrees to look at the doorway from my bed, on which I'd been lying on my stomach while doing homework. "Is something the matter, daddy?" I asked innocently.

"Is something the matter? 'Oh, is something the matter?' she says. Of course something's the matter!" He cried as he entered my room, flinging his hands up in the air in what I was sure was supposed to be a fit of purely overwhelming and violent rage.

I put my hand over my mouth and laughed. My father was oh-so-overly dramatic. I liked to think it was because he used to be a musician, but I highly doubted it. Something told me it was just his nature to be like this.

"Well," I asked, pretending to be curious as to what was wrong. In reality, though, I knew _exactly_ what was causing my dad so much panic. "What's the problem?"

"_You_ stole my manuscript," my father said, glaring. I rolled my eyes at how childish he sounded. I then smirked. I would be able to have to some fun with this.

"And, father dearest, what evidence do you have to support that claim?" I asked, cheekily.

"Past record," he said with a glare, his arms now crossed over his chest in suspicion. He was trying to figure out what I was playing at. I smiled.

"Really; is that so? But I thought people could change. What makes you think you haven't just misplaced it or left it at work?"

"Because I had it yesterday on my desk and I haven't touched it since then. Yet I walked into the office this morning and lo and behold! It's gone. And I _know_ for a fact that in this house, when something randomly disappears like that, it's because one of the occupants decided to move it," he said, walking over and crouching in front of my bed to look at my full in the face.

For a split second, a retort bubbled in my throat and I bit my tongue to keep from saying it aloud. Instead, I replied, "Well, maybe you just absent-mindedly put it somewhere. We know how you get, dad."

"I. Didn't. _Touch_. It," my dad practically seethed, looking me dead in the eye with his glare. With the way he enunciated each and every word, I was surprised (and thankful) that spit didn't coming flying out of his mouth and onto my face. I sat up cross-legged and leaned over slightly to look at him better.

"Well, do you _see_ it with me?" I said in the same way he did, now initiating a full-on glaring contest.

After a good, long, hard, solid thirty seconds, my dad jumped up and asked me where my backpack was. I crossed my arms, and then, with suspicion, pointed to my computer desk, where my super-mega-awesomely-epically-wicked wheelie chair was.

Did I just call my wheelie chair super-mega-awesomely-epically-wicked? Why yes; yes, I did. Why? Only because my wheelie chair was super-mega-awesomely-epically-wicked.

He went over to the chair and turned it around to take my backpack. He grabbed the zipper and pulled on it too roughly for my liking.

"Eek! Gently, dad! Pull the zipper _gently_!" I cried. I was very proud of my backpacks. Every time I needed a new one, I'd purposely buy a white one so I could paint all over it with different colours and make it pretty. It was the closest I could get to being artistic, and therefore, I took the greatest care I could of my backpacks.

My father rolled his eyes and pulled the zipper more gently. Once it had been opened, he began to digging through its contents. I watched, confused and giving him a "_what_ are you _doing_?" look.

Too late I realized what he was looking for. The next second, he pulled out a stack of paper in triumph.

Damn it. Sigh. There's goes the fun I was having.

Note to self; find new, _better_ hiding spots for when you steal dad's manuscripts. Try to go for places he wouldn't think to look for.

My father was smirking at me, now. No doubt he was about to brag about out-smarting me (ha. Yeah, dad; for once, you did). I groaned and fell backwards onto my bed.

"Don't you _dare_ start, dad! I am in no mood to hear your rants of your sudden brilliance and how amazing you are just because I forgot to take your work stuff out of my backpack."

"Are you _ever_ in the mood to hear that?" He asked. I shot back up and glared.

"Don't smart-mouth me, mister," I retorted.

"I forget; who's the child and who's the parent?" My father quipped cheekily. My eyes squinted at him, I crossed my arms over my chest again, and I growled.

Yes, that's right. I _growled_.

Dad, being used to this, merely walked over and sat beside me.

"So…" he started. I raised my eyebrow, telling him to continue.

"Did you finish reading it?" He asked, gesturing to the stack in his hands. It was probably about thirty pages, _maybe_ forty.

"Yep," I said, smirking, "Why? Do you need a second opinion?"

"That's _exactly_ what I need," he sighed, his mouth twisting into a melancholy smile. I took a deep breath, knowing there'd be little – if any, at all – pause what I was about to say.

"Well, starting off, the writing is _fantastic_. It's wonderfully descriptive, and it's edgy, and it would definitely want to make the reader carry on with it. The problem, though," I said, deciding to stop for a dramatic pause. My dad leaned forward a bit, clearly interested in what I had to say, "Is that the writing is the _only_ good thing about it. The settings don't contribute to the plot _at all_, which might be okay, except the plot is already suffering as it is. It's overly dramatic and confusing, and the motivations for the characters' actions aren't justified and oftentimes, they don't make any sense at all.

"Another thing about the characters is that almost all of them are the same. There's no variety in them. They're a pack of good little sheep, honestly; they all follow the same rules and act the same way. The only two people who have some sliver of personality are the main character and the villain-slash-main love-interest. Even then, she's so _whiny_ and _annoying_ that I want to slap her. And she's also unbelievably, as well as _irrationally_, obsessed with this guy. And _he_'s such a _jerk_ that I don't know why _any_ girl would like him.

"Tell the author that she –" I paused, thinking something over, "Wait, it is a female author, right?" My dad nodded and I continued, "Tell her the truth, and that she's a fantastic writer, but she needs to do a lot of plot development and character work until she can get published."

"_Thank _you. I mean, I'll admit, the writing is great, which is why I wanted to publish it, but everything else is so… so…" My father struggled to find a word that wasn't (or a direct synonym of) 'bad.'

"Underdeveloped?" I supplied.

"Yes! It's all so underdeveloped that I wasn't sure if the writing was all that redeemable," he said.

"It's not," I added in. I could tell he was relieved. He'd probably already finished the book and was literally tossing and turning at night to decide whether or not he should publish it.

"So… how long should I wait 'til I write the rejection letter?" My father asked after a pause. I thought it over for a second.

"When did you get it?" I asked.

"Tuesday," he answered.

If he got it Tuesday, and today was Thursday… that meant he'd finished it yesterday…

"Wait 'til tomorrow to actually write the letter. Send it out the day after. And also, make sure you stick to the main points. Tell her writing is good, but everything else isn't. Plot and character development are _essential_ if she wants to get published. But also tell her that it's also something she should do as soon as possible, because that level of _talent_ and _skill_ with words _needs_ to be published."

Dad shook his head and stood up. As he left, he said, "When you're old enough, I'm making you my assistant."

I smiled cheekily and called out, "Wouldn't have it any other way, daddy!"

Sure that he had left, I quickly rolled off of my bed. Once I was on my feet, I closed the door, went over to my desk, and moved my super-mega-awesomely-epically-wicked wheelie chair out of the way. Sitting cross-legged on the floor and reaching beneath the desk, I pulled out a single notebook and flipped it open, trying to find the last page I'd written on. I finally found it, a page on the left with the same things I'd put in it as always. Reaching up, I felt around the top my desk blindly until I finally grabbed a pen.

Once more, I looked down at the page I'd written in before turning my eyes over to the empty page beside it. I quickly began to write down the skeleton – the constant thing that had been on every page before it. When I finished, the page read like this;

_Book title:_

_Author:_

_Date Finished:_

_Review Date:_

_Review:_

After, I filled it in with the variables. I wrote in the name of the book, the author, and today's date for both '_Date Finished_' and '_Review Date_.' Generally, though, they weren't the same date, nor were they always the same date as the date I wrote it in. Then, I quickly re-wrote the rant I'd given my dad about the book. Once that was finished, I skipped a line and added in two more sub-headings.

_Success?: Yes / No_

_Comments:_

I circled '_Yes_' and then pondered if there was anything I wanted to add in conclusion. I smiled when I knew.

_This time, Sally sounded a lot like mom would've. Sally's getting better._

I paused and then added in more.

_Sally must also stop referring to herself in third person. Even though it is cool to refer to yourself in third person. Sally should know. She is the epitome of cool. Sally's also very modest. Sally is also going to go finish her Math homework and wonder why she's talking about herself in third person to a piece of paper. Sally bids you arrivederci._

With that, I put the notebook back in its hiding spot.

* * *

><p>This was torture in its most brutal form. This was terribly cruel and horrifyingly unusual punishment, especially when I hadn't done anything to deserve this. I'd been the innocent victim, not the perpetrator of whatever reason had put me here.<p>

"Alright, class! We've got two more things left for today, and we'll be done! Now please open up to page three of the packages we got yesterday," a perky voice came from the front of the classroom, causing me to feel the need to bang my head against the table in pure agony.

Why, oh _why_, had I been put in this bloody class? It had to be some sick cosmic joke.

Groaning as quietly as I could, I lazily flipped the package open, not really caring if I was actually on the right page or not. I looked up to the board, where it was written "There's always room SELF-improvement! :)" I almost gagged.

Yes, we had a class called self-improvement. Now, it wouldn't seem so bad, except it was a class the school put you in that was dedicated to fixing kids with _attitude problems_.

Were you chewing gum in class? You broke the rules and therefore you had an attitude problem. Did you correct a teacher's mistake? You had an attitude problem and belonged in SI. Were you in my situation – AKA were you a (almost) straight-A student with good attendance, good behavior, never once been called down to the office for anything other than picking up something for your teacher, and yet you gave your principal _one_ dirty look because he'd just told you that the library was going to be closed for a week because he felt that there was too much pleasure-reading and not enough studying going on at the school?

You just earned yourself a one-way ticket into Self-Improvement class.

The class was literally a semester-long detention during school hours.

"Alright, then," said our teacher, Miss Kestrel; she was young, blonde, overly-perky, and dressed as if she was ready to go to a sock-hop. I swear she time-traveled here from America in the 1950's. "Could someone please read from the beginning of the page?"

When nobody raised their hand (it made sense that everyone hated this class just as much as I did), Miss Kestrel decided to do what was probably her favourite hobby ever.

Pick on me.

"Salena, dear," she said, much too sweetly for my liking, "Could you please start reading?"

I forced a smile, looked down at the page and told myself to read as enthusiastically as I could.

That idea flew out the window when I realized we were reading about how it was inappropriate to chew gum in class. I read the passage, waiting for class to be over.

"Thank you, Salena; that was wonderful," Miss Kestrel said, "Now, class. I've decided that we're going to do a little assignment."

Everybody groaned. Except for me; instead, I mentally let loose every curse word I knew.

"I want you all to write a journal entry about yourselves. Talk about what you like, what you don't like. Mention experiences, your home life, your friends. Reveal to me what's important to you; your goals, your dreams! Talk about the course, and how it's been benefitting you to all self-improve yourselves! Oh, and you've got three weeks," Miss Kestrel ended off cheerily.

Everyone was silent.

"And you have the rest of the period to yourselves," she sighed.

Everyone immediately began talking to one another. Well, everyone else. I stayed quiet, packed my things in my colourful backpack, and once that was finished, looked _peacefully_ out the window.

"Why, hello, Salena."

Goodbye, peace.

I groaned and turned around in my chair. "Ugh, what do you want, Tamra?"

"Just wanted to say 'hi,' _dear_," said the brunette girl now in front of me. She was sitting on the desk behind me, legs crossed and swinging off the edge. She popped a bubble she'd made with her gum and her little posse of three (whose names I didn't even know) was standing behind the desk, all of them with their arms crossed and each leaning on one of their hips.

I rolled my eyes. What did they think – that they were in a movie or something?

"No, seriously," I addressed Tamra, "What do you want?"

"No, seriously," she said mockingly, "I wanted to say 'hi.' And ask how your father was doing – y'know, with work and stuff?"

I scowled. Bloody little…

Tamra thought little of my dad, his sisters, and their families. She didn't think too greatly of my grandparents either – especially my grandfather. I didn't _want_ to blame her for it, because I knew she was _raised_ thinking lowly of my family, but she made it so _hard_ not to. I mean, yes; I understood that her parents and her grandparents all taught her to think there was something wrong with us because we all chose to follow careers that we wanted and happened to be creative outlets.

Like my dad, for example – he was a musician for a while, before he went into literature. His dad was in literature, too. He was an actual novelist. They decided to be what they wanted and not what people expected them to be.

And she came over just to make _fun_ of them.

Well, alright then. Two could play at that game.

"He's _fine_. He loves his job. And I love his job, too. It may be stressful, but at least I get to see him. When was the last time you saw yours?"

Tamra's perfectly glossed lips tugged into a frown. I fought the urge to smile in triumph, though I _really_ wanted to. Though I did feel a little guilty – it _was_ a low blow, after all.

"When and how often I see my father is _none_ of your business, _Salena_," Tamra said, the venom in her voice now seeping through.

"Hey, if you're trying to annoy me by using my full name," I started, but didn't finish what I was thinking. Because I was _thinking_ that it was working. Instead, I quirked my eyebrow and went with, "At least my parents didn't forget a letter on my birth certificate."

Her frown deepened, almost a scowl. Just as she was about to say something that was probably absolutely terrible, the bell rang, effectively cutting her off. Tamra composed herself and forced a smile

"Well, make sure to tell him I said 'hello,'" she said, obviously fed up that she wasn't winning, but trying hard not to show it.

"And why would I do that?" I sighed, already knowing the answer.

"Because he's my _uncle_, and I'm allowed to pass on messages every once in a while, aren't I?" Tamra said, a stupid smirk on her face as she walked away with her posse.

Oh yeah. I forgot to mention, Tamra was my second cousin. Our grandfathers were brothers.

Yeah. Just kill me now.

* * *

><p>I got home around three that day, same time as I usually did. It was Friday, and I really wanted to just pass out on my bed and sleep into Saturday, but something was eating at me – something to do with SI class.<p>

And it actually wasn't Tamra.

It should've been, but after going to school with her for years, I'd learned to ignore her pettiness and just move on with my life after she decided to make a jab at my (side of the) family.

No, I was thinking about the journal entry.

There was a_ lot_ I could talk about. But I wasn't sure if I wanted to share it all. Knowing my teacher, she'd probably go and make everyone read other people's entries aloud to the class. I wasn't willing to share a lot of the stuff she said we should talk about.

I thought it over a minute more and sighed.

Oh, what the hell. Why not? I decided that I'd just edit out what I didn't want Miss Kestrel or anyone else reading later (which would probably be most of it).

With that thought in mind, I went and sat down at my computer.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Journal,<em>

_Let's start with the basics. _

_My name is Salena Silk._

You_ are to call me _Sally_._

_I'm fifteen and my birthday is May thirty-first. My aunt always goes crazy every time someone mentions that. I was born in a small town in Italy, and I moved here to England when I was five. I have mouse-brown hair, which I got from my dad. I think my eyes are my best feature, which are perfectly half blue and half grey. My mom's eyes were naturally blue-grey, but were bluer, and my dad's eyes are grey. My mom, whose mother had grey eyes and father had blue eyes, got the same mix I did, except the blue in her eyes were more prominent than the grey – unlike mine, where both colours were perfectly even._

_Speaking of my parents, my dad's name is Gabriel Silk, and my mom's was Emma Silk, nee Tolly. They're both endowed, which makes me a shoo-in to be. I just felt the need to express that, you know since, I'm supposed to be talking about me right now and stuff… wow, that sounded conceited. Anyway, moving on, my dad can feel emotions through clothes and stuff, and my mom could turn into any bird she wanted and fly._

_Now, you've probably noticed I keep using present tense for my dad and past tense for my mom… Or you haven't. But I have. I shall explain that._

_That's because my mom died when I was four. It was a car accident. She was on her way home from an arts and crafts store. (She was an artist, and an amazing one at that. It's sad that I never inherited her art skills. I try though… Not that great, but I try.) Suddenly, a drunken truck driver came out of nowhere and my mom, attempting to get out of the way, ended up driving into a ditch. She was declared dead on impact._

_I remembered that there was this star right beside the moon that she used to show me every night when we lived in Italy. It was always there, even when we moved here. She always told me that it was a special star and that if I ever felt lost, I should look at that star and remember that there is always someone thinking about me. When she died, I made it her star. So that if I ever felt lost, I would look at it and know _she's_ thinking about me. I look at it every night and talk to it, pretending that I'm talking to her. _

_I don't like talking about my mom much, so I'm going to talk about my dad now._

_My dad is a book agent. Yeah, that's right. _Be jealous_. He brings home manuscripts and I get to read them and offer my father advice on them when he mysteriously can't find them around the house. As you can probably tell, I'm an avid reader, but I'm pretty slow at it. We can blame school for that. School's a pain. School should magically disappear and then I could go to my dad's work every day and just sit in his office and read. That's my dream life. Oh, and Logan Mitchell (no, not Logan Henderson. Logan _Mitchell_) would be there, catering to my every need because he loves me oh-so-much and he would make me his queen after we plan a giant corporate takeover of every bookstore in the world and then keep the books to ourselves…_

_And this is the part where I go back to reality. Sigh._

_In reality, I go to a local high school and live in a part of the town called the Heights. I live close to my cousin Paige, and my grandparents. There are only a handful of kids in the Heights that are my age. Actually, there's only one. His name is Travis… something-or-other. (I can't remember his last name… my bad!) There's also this one other family. They have three kids, but one is thirteen, one is sixteen, and the oldest is seventeen. Anyway, I don't really get a chance to talk to any of them anyway. Travis, the other kids, and Paige all go a school called Bloor's Academy. It's for geniuses and endowed kids. I'm probably going to end up going there sooner or later (the whole 'I'm sure I'm going to be endowed' thing), but it doesn't exactly matter to me. I'm just going to live in the world of the normal as long as I possibly can._

_What does matter to me? Well, that's easy – my grades, my friends, and my family. I have eighties and nineties in almost all my classes, except Science and Self-Improvement, which are literally the banes of my existence._

_I have some interesting friends. My super-cool buddies happen to be Macy, Catherine, Chris, Brady, and Hunter._

_Macy Capron is grouchy, and usually has this bored look on her face that said "I have better things to do with my life." But I know she cares, and without her slightly mean and disinterested attitude, she wouldn't be Macy._

_Braden (or as we all call him, Brady), I happen to love dearly because his last name is Mitchell. As in, I like to pretend he's related to Logan Mitchell and will one day introduce me to him. Anyway, Brady's very social, but isn't very good with expressing his feelings, which is why he always needs our help whenever he tries to ask a girl out._

_Catherine Lalier's studious, and often mistaken for being bipolar because of her mood-swings. It's best to never get on her bad side. But we love her all the same._

_Christopher Gremmie likes to experiment with practically everything, and is constantly in detention because of said experiments. I'm surprised he hasn't been put in SI yet… or he has and he just refuses to tell us. I find that scenario pretty likely. _

_Hunter Caste is my boyfriend. We've been dating ten months. He's really sweet. He's a little over-protective sometimes, yes – but really sweet._

_But the most important thing to me is my family. It's always been me and my dad. Then there's my cousin Paige (who's more like my sister), and her parents, my Uncle Billy and Aunt Mai (she's the one who goes crazy over my birthday). Then there's my Aunt April and husband Owen, and their daughter Kelsy. She's ten and probably the sweetest thing in the world. And there's also my Aunt June and Uncle Martin, and their son, Micah. He's nineteen and Paige and I are always calling him "oldie." Oh, and don't forget my grandparents and my great-aunt. My grandparents live around here, so I see them semi-often. My Great-Aunt Julia lives in a bookshop (SHE LIVES IN A BOOKSHOP! I'm so jealous) near the cathedral, so I don't see her as much as I'd like. But it's fun when I do, because she'd tell me stories of my mom every time I take a break from staring at the shop in complete and utter awe._

_Then, there's also the _other_ side of the family. This consists of my cousins Tamra, Becca, Quill, Laverne, and Norman. Even their names sound evil. Oh, and their parents. I'm not too fond of them either. The same goes for their grandparents – their grandfather especially. He started this whole "Silk-family-rivalry" thing._

_Anyway, let's move on._

_Um, so… what I like is easy – reading; music; attempting to be artistic and failing; my super-mega-awesomely-epically-wicked__ wheelie chair and awesome, colourful backpacks; acting (it's kind of strange to me too); my phone; hanging out with my friends and family… Oh, and of course Logan Mitchell. But who _doesn't_ like Logan Mitchell?_

_(I shall personally, as well as brutally, mutilate anyone who answers that they don't and/or knows someone who doesn't. LOGAN MITCHELL IS AMAZING. As is Big Time Rush in general, but LOGAN ESPECIALLY!)_

_What I don't like… also easy. My cousin Tamra tops the list; next goes annoying snobs like Tamra in general; Science; Self-Improvement class; my school when it decided to shut down the library for a week (like really? What was the point of that?); and… I don't know what else. There are a lot of things that I can't think of right now. It's oddly difficult to think of things you _don't_ like._

_Dreams… goals… I have no clue. I guess I'll just go into something that makes me happy in the end. I'll figure it out eventually, I'm sure._

_How has this Self-Improvement course helped me? It hasn't. It sucks and I hate it and it should go die. Can courses die? I think this one should._

_And well, I guess that's all I can say about me. Gosh, I'm going to have a ridiculous amount of editing to do to this._

_- Sally_

* * *

><p>"Hey, dad," I said, poking my head into the living room, "I'm going to go over to Catherine's soon. Want me to pick up anything?" The grocery store was on my way to and from Catherine's house, who I was meeting up with along with Macy for a project. I figured I could grab something on the way home.<p>

"Um…" he thought about it for a second, "No, I think we're good right now. Have fun, and actually try to do some work."

"Psh, we always get our work done. We're wonderful students like that," I called back as I walked to my room. Once there, I began to rummage around, trying to find the materials I needed. I opened my closet and looked. The first thing I saw was a sweater I never, ever wore. It was a nice sweater, a simple, over-sized black hoodie. But something about it always gave me the creeps. Yes, I found a sweater creepy. Sue me.

Anyway, I saw it and instantly had the urge to put it on. Like something inside of me was pulling me toward it. I swear, I thought I was going insane in that moment. I mean, I felt as if I was being magnetically pulled toward a _sweater_. But I ignored that thought (and, if I'm completely honest, any rational thought I was having), and pulled it on over my yellow t-shirt anyway.

That was a big mistake.

I pulled the sweater over my head, realizing it was actually quite comfortable and thinking it was silly that I was _scared_ of it.

That's when the flashes started.

I saw myself on the floor with my dad's arms around me. I was looking into the mirror, frozen, tears spilling from my cheeks, and looking like I had been trying to take off the sweater that I currently had on. I was desperate to get _out_. There was something… something haunting going on and I wanted to run into a corner and stay there forever.

_Flash._

I was looking in a mirror, but I didn't see myself. I saw my cousin Paige, who was trying to tie her long brown hair in a ponytail. Her violet eyes alight with laughter. I could feel my arms piling up my hair in my hands and pulling a hair-tie over them.

I felt myself doing it in sync with Paige, and I thought, '_Wow, Sally. Just… wow._'

_Flash._

I saw a girl with black hair, a serious look on her face. She looked like she was trying to say something, and she seemed almost desperate to let it out, from the look in her dark eyes.

I _felt_ desperate. I felt my mouth moving, trying to get out the words I needed to, but they wouldn't come out. I was stuttering, rambling as fast as I could, trying to tell… tell _someone_ that something was very, _very_ wrong.

But the voice that came out wasn't my own.

_Flash._

I saw a different girl, this time with brown-coloured hair and eyes to match. She was trying to look inconspicuous against a dark wall, as if be noticed was dangerous.

I was straining to hear something, but I tried to stay as quiet as possible. I felt scared and adrenaline was coursing through me. I was dizzy and my face felt warm and I wanted to run as fast as I could, but I stayed where I was. It was as if my silence was the only thing keeping me alive at that moment. I could hear my heart thumping deafeningly in my ears, and I was surprised that the people I was listening in on couldn't hear me.

I felt myself step back and the floor beneath me creaked. I froze.

I knew right then that I was a goner.

_Flash._

I saw myself again, this time standing at the gateway into a cemetery. I was sad… no, _wistful_. I wanted something that I knew I could never have. I also felt… twisted, and I wanted to laugh at some bitter humour that was right there.

I realized it was because there was only one place I could get whatever I wanted. And I knew that it didn't have it.

And yet, I was there, torturing myself, anyway.

_Flash._

I couldn't take it after that. I screamed.

I sank down to floor, struggling to take the sweater off, with tears spilling from my eyes, the whole time aware of my dad calling out my name and the sound of footsteps, rushed and getting closer with each second. My door slammed open as my dad took one look at the scene. He was instantly beside me. He hugged me, trying to reassure me everything was alright. I just kept struggling with the sweater, thinking that the images would go away if it came off. I couldn't see my bedroom, or my father beside me. All I saw was scene after scene, white blinding lights in between each of them.

I saw people I didn't know, places I'd never been before, felt feelings that weren't mine. I could see these people from the outside, and yet from the inside as well. I could feel these people's emotions. I could feel their pain, their longing, anguish, sorrow, anger, _fear_…

But, for one moment in time, everything was clear. I could see everything around me. I still tugged at the sweater, thrashing about and ended up turning around, seeing myself in the mirror. I froze. I opened my mouth to let out a gasp when the scenes suddenly started flashing again.

I screamed instead.

Finally, my father helped me get the sweater off, and I couldn't move. The flashes had stopped. My heart was racing, my head hurt and I was sure I was sweating. My face was warm and I was light-headed. I felt numb and weak and could hear blood pounding in my ears. All I could do was keep crying. So that's exactly what I did.

"Sally?" My dad asked tentatively.

I couldn't speak. Somehow, during the flashing scenes, I'd turned myself around again, now facing where I had been originally. Staring at the closet door in front of me, I nodded my head painfully slow, the pain I felt still coursing through me.

"Can you speak?" He asked, sounding slightly scared.

I shook my head slowly, still staring at the door. I turned my head to my father, and he looked panicked and afraid. My_ father_, who – even with his dramatic ways and childish attitude – was so organized and ready for anything; was ready for any surprises that came his way. He had been this way ever since my mother had died. He wasn't going to let anything scare him.

To see him so _scared_ – I couldn't tell what I felt. What I _did_ know was I was almost positive I felt my throbbing heart break a little at the sight. To see him, my always calm and put-together father, so scared of _me_, his _daughter_…

What was happening to me?

I did the only thing I could do in that moment.

I cried harder.

Suddenly, my voice came rushing back to me.

"Daddy…" I whispered; my voice was hoarse, as if I hadn't spoken for weeks. My throat hurt as I forced myself to utter out words, but I didn't care, so long as I got my answer. "What happened?"

"I don't know, Sally, but I have an idea." I looked up at his words. My head was in pain as I did this, but I was trying to block the excruciating ache so I could hear what he would say next. His scared face became grave at whatever theory he had.

"I think you got your endowment."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: AND SCENE. :D What did you think? This is my first attempt at an actual, proper multi-chapter story in two or three years, so feedback is definitely appreciated. Review please? :) Also, any minor errors, typos, etc, I will fix tomorrow.**

**Word Count: 6,000**

**Time Posted: Sometime between 11:40 – 11:59 PM**

**- May :)**


	2. Wishing For Broken Glass On A Highway

**A/N at the bottom!**

* * *

><p>After the sweater incident, it took me a couple of days to be… <em>me<em> again. I was scared to change my clothes (which made changing for Gym _very_ difficult), afraid of my closet, petrified every time I saw the colour black, and steered clear of sweaters as much as I possibly could. Thankfully, Mother Nature had pity on me, as it was early October and I could still go out in a t-shirt.

The image I had seen in the mirror _haunted_ me. Seriously; I had _nightmares_ about it.

My dad had called Catherine to tell her I wasn't coming over that day (thankfully she'd been in an understanding mood, so she did my part. I owed her _immensely_). I spent two days at home. And I spent the whole time in bed, staring at my ceiling, trying to figure out the image I had seen. To say I hadn't been expecting it would have been an understatement.

Of course, when I looked into the mirror, I was frozen into the position where I had been trying to take the sweater off. And of course, I had been crying. And of course, I was on the floor, my dad holding me. Sound familiar? I know what you're thinking. The image was similar to the first scene I saw when I put the sweater on… right?

Wrong.

It wasn't _similar_.

It was the _same_.

* * *

><p>The sweater incident happened on a Saturday.<p>

My cousin Paige came over to my house the Friday after.

That helped me… and it also scared me more.

It all started at five-thirty, on the dot. The doorbell rang. I ran to answer it and was greeted by an enormous hug. Like choke-hold enormous. Scratch that; make that death-grip enormous.

"Paige!" I said sounded excited and breathless… probably because I was both. "Can't… breathe!" I then proceeded to make a sound that sounded like I was choking, which I wasn't faking.

She sighed dramatically before letting me go, pushing her open brown hair out of her eyes.

"Whatever," she said, "You just don't know a good hug when you get it."

I ignored her. I was too busy trying to get air in my lungs. I held up my index figure to indicate for her to pause, caught my breath, and said, "Okay, speak, strangler."

She frowned, then made a face that meant she was thinking, then shrugged and let it go (I think). "My dad is working late, while my mom is at a friend's house. So I thought, 'You know, I haven't talked to Sally in a while. Maybe I should go visit my _darling_ cousin.' And here I am." Turning her attention away from me and inviting herself in (though it didn't matter because she already knows she's welcome anytime here), she called to house "Hi Uncle Gabriel!"

My dad popped his head out of his study and smiled. "Hey Paige, how are you?" he said with a wave.

"I've been pretty good. Dad's at work and mom's over at a friend's house today. I figured I should come over. What about you?" My cousin said casually. My dad answered he was fine and that he had some paperwork to do, so he would leave us alone before going back into his office.

"Okay, then. My room?" I asked. Paige and I always had an understanding. Whenever she came over, we would first go to my room, then do whatever. It was like this weird ritual thing we had. But it was cool all the same.

We walked up the stairs, into my room, and immediately decided to watch something. After much deliberation (as in, we looked at each other and instantly yelled it out), we decided on one of _the_ best shows ever.

Which one? Big Time Rush, obviously.

Smiling, we raced downstairs to the kitchen to make popcorn. I asked my dad if he wanted to watch it with us and he politely declined by gesturing to the stack of work in front of him. It was more likely that he didn't want to listen to Paige and me squealing about Kendall and Logan, respectively. Partway through the episode we were watching on my computer (we were in the middle of watching "Big Time Guru"… it had Logan's swagger app!), I asked Paige how school was.

She went over to my desk and paused the show. She then immediately launched into a detailed description of how the work load is absolutely crazy, especially for someone who was thirteen. She also complained about how her English teacher was a complete freak and all he did was yell at everybody. Well, that and a bunch of other stuff.

By the time she came to the end of her account, we were sitting on my bed (well, I was lying down; Paige was on her knees). "Hey," Paige said suddenly. "I'm cold, can I burrow a sweater?"

I tensed just the slightest at the word "sweater," but forced myself to relax. I instead sat up and pointed to my closet, telling her that she knew what to do. Thanking me (which was a rare occurrence, seeing as it was Paige and I), she walked over. While rummaging, she said, "So, what have I missed in your life this past little while?"

I bit my lip, considering whether or not to tell her. I mean, how weird is it to find out your cousin practically had a seizure over wearing a sweater? Before I could come up with an answer, though, Paige held up something, obviously out of my closet.

"How come you never wear this? It's nice," she asked. I looked at her like she was crazy. What was she talking about? I looked at her hand and saw that she was about to put on _the_ sweater. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered why she had reached so far into my closet. After all, I'd gotten my dad shove the sweater to the very back of the thing, and he had made sure that I wouldn't be able to see it at all whenever I opened the closet.

"Uh, Pai, you might not want to put that on," She looked at me strangely, "No, seriously, don't," I told her.

"And why not?" she asked, looking at me suspiciously.

"Because I'm two years older than you and I said so."

"That is a horrible excuse, you know," she retorted. I began to feel panicked. How could I get her to not put it on?

"That sweater is evil!"

I silently thanked whoever had said what I couldn't.

'_Wait,'_ I thought, _'Paige and I are the only ones in the room… And Paige is looking at me.'_

Well, mystery solved as to who said _that_ little statement.

"Evil? Really, Sal?" Paige said, laughing. And that's when she did the most horrible thing yet.

She put the sweater on.

And of course, I did one thing. The one and only thing I could do through my shock and horror.

I squeaked like an eight-year-girl.

_Paige_, on the other hand, _laughed_ at me. She then walked over to my dresser and looked into the mirror, while _I_ was panicking.

"Look, it's hard to explain, Paige, but I _need_ you to take off that sweater…" I tried, slightly freaking out _like crazy_. Though I was slightly confused as to why Paige hadn't started freaking out like I had.

Meanwhile, my _lovely_ cousin, who was refusing to _listen_ to me, stood in front of the mirror. She was trying to tie her long brown hair in a ponytail. Her violet eyes were alight with laughter. I watched as her as she piled up her hair in her hands and pulled a hair-tie on them.

I stared in awe. In an instant, the flashing scenes came back to me, all at once. This time, it didn't hurt; I was only remembering, and I was doing so by my own standards. There was no pain, no fear – just me watching those moments again. There was me; there was the dark-eyed girl; there was the brown-haired girl; there was me again. Finally, I focused on the image I'd seen of Paige, and I instantly knew what was going through her mind.

"Wow, Sally. Just… wow," I murmured quietly, still slack-jawed.

The same image was there. The same moment, just reenacting itself. It was like watching something, pausing it, rewinding it, and then watching again it later. And I only had one thought for it.

What. The. Bloody. _Hell_?

There was also _'che diavolo?'_ running in my mind as well.

"Sally?" I looked up to see Paige looking at me worriedly, "What's wrong? Now you're starting to freak me out."

I gave her a melancholy smile, one people always told me I inherited from my father. It was actually quite a depressing thing to tell someone. "Like I said," I told her, "that sweater is evil."

She looked at me one second, trying to figure out what was up with me. The next, she had quickly grabbed the sweater and tossed it off faster than a cheetah could run, staring at it as if it were going to eat her.

"Paige…" I asked slowly, immediately fearing the worse, "What did you see?"

She looked at me strangely. "What do you mean?" Paige asked back.

"The sweater," I said, now confused, "What did you see that made you take it off so quickly?" I had also wondered why she hadn't screamed. Wasn't she in pain?

"Nothing…" she said slowly, looking at me strangely, "I just took it off so fast because you were freaking out because of it."

"Oh," I said awkwardly. So, I guessed I was the only one who freaked out by putting the sweater on. Just peachy, wasn't it?

"Sally, what is going on?" Paige asked. She was extremely worried now – I could tell by the look on her face. She was also growing increasingly anxious.

I sighed and motioned her to sit down beside me. She did, and I launched into the account of what had happened the last time I put the sweater on.

Paige's face went from worry to confusion, and then from confusion to sympathy when I told her what my father thought it was.

"That's probably why _I_ didn't see anything," Paige said, "It's _your_ endowment." She gulped, and continued, "Wow… your _endowment_. That's… that's pretty huge. Just… wow."

She didn't sound too thrilled. In fact, she sounded _devastated_.

"Paige…?" I asked, slightly worried now. I would later laugh at how quickly the roles had reversed in this situation, but for right now, I could only worry about how sad Paige sounded.

Suddenly, she looked up at me apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Sal," she spoke as if _she'd_ caused this. She looked at her hands in her lap and fiddled with them, "I can't tell you it'll get any better. Getting your endowment for the first time… experiencing it… It changes a person. I mean, some people are lucky, I guess… their endowment doesn't affect them physically or they just learn to suck it up and deal with it. But for the rest of us… it kind of just… it's some scary stuff, especially the first time. And it messes people up, trust me. I know first hand."

That last sentence scared me. It suddenly occurred to me that for the last thirteen years, Paige and I had been almost like sisters, and yet I couldn't tell anyone what her endowment was. Not because I was sworn to secrecy, but because I didn't _know_.

I thought back to about three years ago, when Paige had been ten and I'd been twelve. We went to the same school, and there'd been a day she missed classes. I'd gone over to visit her and pass on her homework, only to see my Uncle Billy looking distraught. He took the work and told me that Paige wasn't feeling well and she would speak to me when she was feeling better.

A couple of days later, she'd come to my house, told me thank you for the work, and sat me down. She also told me we wouldn't be in the same school the next year. When I asked her why, she told me she was transferring and then explained to me what an endowment was and how she'd gotten hers. I'd asked my dad that night and he'd given me further explanation, as Uncle Billy and Aunt Mai had only described it to Paige without going into the deeper details. When school started in the fall, Paige wasn't at our school, and had gone off to Bloor's Academy.

It had been the only time I'd seen my fun-loving cousin so serious and upset. Up until now, that is.

Paige had noticed my silence and her eyes widened a bit.

"Not me, personally," she quickly said, "I mean, I've seen kids at my school – endowed ones."

I didn't believe her, but I let it slide for now. I knew Paige well enough to know she would tell me the truth in time.

"So," I started, "What exactly _is_ your endowment, Pai?"

Paige looked slightly shocked by my question. We'd never talked about it, so it was probably odd that I was asking _now_, after three years. Then she looked awkward, as if wondering how to tell me. She opened her mouth to speak when my door swung opened.

"Hey, you two," my dad said, popping his head in, "Paige's parents just called. They were wondering if she was going to come home or stay the night. I told them I'd ask and call them back." He then looked between us and, obviously noticing our serious faces, awkwardly asked, "Was I interrupting something?"

Paige and I looked at each other before shaking our heads 'no.'

"So, Paige… are you staying tonight?" I asked, turning to the girl in question.

Paige shook her head. "I should probably go in a couple of minutes. Dad wants me to go to work with him tomorrow morning. It's supposed to be kind of a father-daughter bonding thing." I noticed Paige's expression sour just a smidge before brightening again. "What time is it anyway, Uncle Gabe?"

My dad answered it was just past eight-thirty, and then said he'd call Paige's parents to tell them she'd be coming home. Before he could fully walk out, though, Paige called him back. "Hey, Uncle Gabriel… could you tell them I just wanted to finish something up with Sally, first?"

"Okay," he called back, not even bothering to ask what. By now, my dad (and Paige's parents, for that matter) had learned to let Paige and I just do our own thing. As long as we didn't end up pregnant, arrested and/or dead, they were fine.

Paige turned to me once he had gone, smiled, and said, "Well. We have to finish watching the episode before I leave, don't we?"

I smiled back, and told her, "Of course. After all, we need to finish enduring the awesomeness that is Logan's swagger app."

* * *

><p>That night, I dreamt.<p>

I was on an empty highway. Not driving or anything (partially because I wasn't legal to drive for another seven months), just standing on the side. On my right, a little further up the road, was a ditch. To my left, there was a car speeding closer to me, as if the driver was excited to get somewhere…

Or as if they were trying to get away from somewhere else.

The car sped by me, not even acknowledging I was there. My clothes blew with the wind that the car had given off from its speed, but I barely noticed. I kept my eyes glued to the car.

I stared, wondering why this was so important for me to watch. Suddenly, the car stopped. From where I was, it looked like it had run out of gas, about three or four metres away from the ditch. The driver was opening the door and getting out. I then closed my eyes, the movement being very deliberate. After a second or two, I opened them to see the car now in the ditch. The driver was gone, and the ditch was on _fire_.

And all around me, I heard a woman's voice. It kept repeating the same thing.

"Don't worry about me, princess."

* * *

><p>Tuesday, I came home from school at three, not expecting anything different than usual. Dad would be home early, and we'd talked about making tacos for dinner. I decided I would then do my homework, steal dad's latest manuscript, and probably watch some corny movie with him before going to sleep. I'd probably call Macy, Catherine, Chris, Brady or Hunter somewhere in between there, too.<p>

Instead, I walked in and the first thing I heard was my father's distressed voice yelling.

"I don't care what you say! I won't allow it!" He cried out angrily.

I hadn't made any indication I was home, so my father and the person he was yelling at (at least, I assumed there was someone) probably didn't realize I was there. Quietly, I snuck over to the entrance of the living room where I'd heard my father's voice.

I quietly got down on my knees and snuck a quick peek at them from the floor. There stood a man. He was taller than my father, and likely a couple of years older as well. He had inky black hair, with some gray strands here and there, that was tied into a ponytail. His clothing was all black as well, and he looked… _giddy_ at my father's distress. Almost as if he was finally getting something he'd wanted for a long time.

"Gabriel," the man said, "It's my _duty_ to do this. And I'm only enforcing the rules. You, of all people, should know that." He smirked at his words and I wanted to slap him.

This man was making my father angry. I didn't like him already.

Dad glared at him, before saying, "It's the parent and the student's choice, isn't it? We get to decide if she goes or not. And I'm not letting her. I don't care what you do or say, _I'm not letting her_."

"She's endowed, Silk. She _has_ to come. It's _not_ your choice," the man said. He paused, and added, "All your other little friends gave in. You will, too."

There was a flash of something in my father's eyes. It was a bundle of negative emotions that mixed together and let themselves sit there for just a moment. There was anger, hurt, shock, betrayal and sorrow, as well as others.

Whoever this man was talking about, they had upset my father greatly by giving into whatever this man wanted.

Then my father got angry again.

"Manfred Bloor, you get out of my house _right now_ and _never_ come back, dammit!" He shouted.

Manfred Bloor. Bloor. Bloor's Academy…

Bloody _hell_, I was not ready for _this_.

The man (who I now assumed was Mr. Bloor) smirked and began to walk out of the room. I realized too late that meant he would _see_ me. As I watched him get closer (still not having noticed me), I suddenly jumped up.

And I, being the clumsy idiot I was, hit my head on the wall as I did so.

Mr. Bloor and dad both looked my way and saw me standing there, holding my head and wincing slightly in pain. I noticed then that Mr. Bloor's eyes were black like coal.

Even worse, they were like black holes.

I would never deny in that moment, I was scared out of my wits of this man.

"Well then," Mr. Bloor said, "I guess I won't be leaving anytime soon."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Proper author's note tomorrow. Happy Canada Day and goodnight.**

**Edit (July 2/11): So I took one word out, but I added another one in, which means Word Count's still the same. Anyone want to guess who's daughter Paige is? It's actually pretty obvious -_- Anyway, "che diavolo?" according to the translator I used, means "What the hell?" in Italian. Sorry if that's wrong. If there's anyone who actually _does_speak Italian and is willing to let me contact them like crazy asking what certain things mean, please let me know :) Sorry this was so short. I actually forgot about PULL, then remembered at 6:30 in the evening. And, since it was Canada Day, we were going to go watch fireworks and stuff. I had to drag my dad's laptop with me and write it in the car. -_- And up until where Sally says "Well, mystery solved as to who said _that_ little statement" was actually part of the first chapter, but I took it out, because of lack of time to finish. I'm a procrastinator extraodinare. -_- Oh, and cliffhangers for the win! LOL, not really if you're the one reading it. Anyway, so I put it here. There was also a bunch of other stuff I wanted to put in the first chapter that I _still_ haven't touched on yet, so the next chapter's going to be all over the place. Hopefully it'll make up for this chapter's lenght. And you finally get to meet Sally's friends :) And _maybe_ (I'm hoping) a strange occurrence that _finally_ makes this story worthwhile reading. ;) Anyway, I think I'm good on the A/N, so gooooooodbye! :)**

**Word Count: 3,304**

**Time Posted: 11:59 PM**

**- May :)**


	3. The More You Talk, The Less I Can Take

**A/N: One review for the entire story (actually, the first chapter)? Ouch. Oh, well. Though I would appreciate feedback, I write for me. Speaking of writing, my novel writing is currently a fail and I have to send my friends an update tomorrow, so let's hope I can finish everything in this and magically write another twenty pages by Saturday. :) (FINGERS CROSSED.)**

**Disclaimer (for this chapter as well as the last one): I own Sally, Paige (those are really the important two right now), some of their family, Sally's friends, and the plot. The rest belongs to Jenny Nimmo.**

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><p>Dad glared at Mr. Bloor and I wanted to do the same, but my father had taught me it was impolite to glare at adults, especially when you didn't know them.<p>

Then again, I didn't exactly do everything my dad told me to do.

"I thought I heard someone come in the door," Mr. Bloor said, much to cheerily, "But I figured I was hearing things, since Gabriel here didn't notice and no one came in. You must be Salena."

That's when the glare came. "Yes, and you are…?"

"Manfred Bloor," he said, "Headmaster of Bloor's Academy. It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise," I said icily, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at the hand he held out for me to shake. I was not going to touch it, and he seemed to understand that, as he put his hand down. He frowned at the fact that I hadn't returned the gesture and I mentally cheered in triumph.

'_Bloor – 0, Silk – 1.'_

"So, Salena," he said, and I bit my lip to hold back my scowl. _'It's Sally, you jerk. Sally. S-A-L-L-Y, Sally!'_ I thought. And, because Mr. Bloor couldn't hear what went on inside my head (currently, I couldn't figure out if that was good or bad. After all, if he did, he'd probably go away like I wanted him to), he continued, "I'm going to assume you know why I'm here."

'_Ew. Don't talk to me,'_ quickly passed through my mind, but out loud, I said, "I'm guessing this has something to do with my endowment."

Mr. Bloor smiled at me as if I was a child who'd finally gotten the right answer the first time I tried. It was actually really creepy.

"Yes, it does," he said, "It has _everything_ to do with your endowment, actually. As I'm sure you know, Bloor's Academy is a place for people like you – people with special abilities."

"I'm aware," I said, the venom in my tone even more evident than it had been the rest of the conversation.

"Good. Then you're _aware_ that I'm here to persuade to come to the school immediately," Mr. Bloor said. I noticed my father's sour expression darkened even more so at the 'persuade.'

"What do you mean by 'persuade?'" he asked Mr. Bloor. Though he tried to keep the anger out of his voice, he didn't do a good job. The same could be said about the suspicion he had.

Mr. Bloor rolled his eyes while absentmindedly waved his hand at my father and said, "It's not in the way you think, Silk. I'm an adult and therefore, I do not need to resort to childish tactics such as hypnotizing children who obviously understand that they _have_ to go to the school."

"I think I liked you better when you were a brooding, overly-sensitive teenager," my father muttered. Mr. Bloor's frown deepened slightly but other than that, made no indication he heard Dad. Turning to me, he continued, "I won't take up too much of your time, but understand that because of your endowment, you _need_ to be monitored properly, and that will only happen if you are at Bloor's."

"Well, gee," I told him sarcastically, narrowing my eyes, "I'm definitely sold after being told I need to be monitored. It makes me sound like a wild animal or a Science experiment." _'I don't like Science experiments,'_ I added mentally. Mr. Bloor scowled, obviously annoyed with the fact that I wasn't yielding to his purpose like he apparently expected me to. I smirked in triumph and my father looked at me, obviously impressed and absolutely happy.

"Alright, fine," Mr. Bloor said, "You may not have agreed immediately, like some of the others did –" he shot a look at Dad, who tensed at the statement, "– but you will come around. They always do."

So, he was saying I was part of the norm? Well, he was _not_ going to get away with that.

"That's nice to know," I said bitterly with a glare, before pointing to the exit, "The door is that way, you may show yourself out, and good day to you, sir." I tipped my head slightly and watched him walk out, obviously insulted by my tone. The door shut with a slight bang. I smiled at the sound.

'_Bloor – 0, Silk – Fifty-zillion and then some."_

"Wow," Dad commented, "I never knew you could annoy all adults like that. I thought it was just me."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why, Dad? What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking," he said, "that I want you to do the same thing next time your Uncle Owen comes over. Maybe then he'll be so annoyed that he'll read one of your grandfather's books."

A running joke in our family was that Uncle Owen hadn't even heard of my grandfather, or any of his bestselling books, until he met Aunt April. Even then, he refused to read the books, because he felt that my aunt would only think he was with her for the fame her dad got. As a wedding present, my dad, Aunt Mai, and Aunt June all teamed up to find all the copies of their father's old manuscripts and give Uncle Owen the complete set.

"Dad," I said, rolling my eyes, "you guys have spent almost fifteen years convincing him. The only way he'll be swayed is if we get Kelsy to read them."

"I don't like your logic," he replied. He paused for a second before saying, "We're going to the diamond. Get our bag?"

I raised an eyebrow at him, expecting something else. He thought for a second before adding, "… Please?"

Smiling with triumph, I wordlessly turned and ran upstairs to my dad's room. There, I saw a navy blue gym bag that held I knew held two baseball bats, two baseball gloves, two baseball hats, and (obviously) a baseball. I unzipped it, pulled out one of the hats, and put it atop my head before re-zipping the bag. Walking out to go to the stairs, I passed the guest room as well as my own bedroom.

I stopped for a second in front of my room before looking at my own outfit, which consisted of blue jeans, a white shirt, and a pink zip-up hoodie. I'd gotten a bit better with wearing sweaters. Besides, this had been a zip-up rather than a pullover, which would make it easier to take off if I had a… experience with it like I had the black hoodie.

Speaking of which, I hadn't had any near-seizures since the first one. It was comforting, but it also caused a _lot_ of anxiety.

Because who knew when the next one would be?

"Sally?" Dad called out.

The sound of my father's voice jolted me out of my thoughts. "Just one sec, Dad!" I called out, "I'm not going to play baseball in jeans, so I'm just going to quickly change."

"Okay. Just hurry up," he replied.

I ran into my room, closed the door, ran to the closet and quickly traded in my jeans for a pair of black yoga pants. I took off my hoodie and decided to exchange my white t-shirt for a red one as well. Placing my baseball cap on again over my tied hair, I grabbed the bag again and ran downstairs to join my father.

* * *

><p>"So," I said, taking it the baseball out of my glove and tossing it to my father, "Want to explain your wide range of negative and non-positive emotions throughout our conversation with Mr. Manfred Bloor?"<p>

Dad caught the ball in his glove effortlessly and said, "Not really, but I'm going to have to, now aren't I?" He then proceeded to toss the ball back.

"Absolutely," I said, leaning to my left a little to get a better grip on the ball as I caught it. I tossed it back to him.

Dad sighed as he caught the ball. It wasn't really new to me. Dad loved baseball, and while he hadn't forced it on me while I was growing up, I'd learned to love it as well. That being said, Dad and I generally didn't play _together_. We watched the sport on TV together, occasionally, but we didn't play the sport with one another. I generally preferred to drag Chris and Brady with me (as those two would play just about any game), whereas Dad usually played with Uncle Owen and Uncle Martin. Uncle Billy would play with them, too, whenever he could, but it wasn't really often.

Dad and I only played together when one or both of us were super stressed about something. We spent the first half of the time playing baseball, while the second half was generally spent discussing whatever problem we were having.

And now, it was discussion time.

Dad walked over to me and sat down on the grass of the diamond. Technically, we weren't on the actual baseball diamond, we were just in the park, right beside it. But we were close enough. I sat down beside him.

"Where do I start?" Dad asked me. I thought for a second and said, "Who were the 'they' that Mr. Bloor kept talking about?"

My dad looked at me oddly and I remembered that he didn't know how much I'd heard before I joined the conversation. I quickly told him what I meant and he sighed again.

"My friends from Bloor's," he said, looking downcast. I attempted to brighten his mood by nudging him and saying, "Since when do you have friends?"

"Ha, ha," he said sarcastically, "Very funny, Sal." He sobered up his mood again and said, "Yeah, I did. They were great. You're Uncle Billy was one of them. There was also your mother and I."

I suddenly knew this was going to be _really_ hard for my dad. But I wanted to know, and therefore, I blinked my eyes and gulped in guilt as I let my father continue. He closed his eyes as he spoke.

"There were also our other friends; Charlie was like our leader. Then there was Fidelio. He was the only unendowed one of our group. Olivia wasn't originally endowed, but she discovered it at the beginning of second year. Then there was Lysander and Tancred. They were two years older than us. Lysander was our voice of reason. Tancred was supposed to be as well, but he might as well have been a five-year-old for all the reasoning he did."

Even though that last part was an attempt at a joke, he let out a shaky breath. Obviously, something about Tancred and Lysander had stirred something in Dad, but I was too afraid to ask what. I didn't need to.

"Tancred and Lysander lived in my area when we were growing up. They were like the brothers I never had when I was younger."

Though his eyes were still closed, I saw that my dad was close to tears. Suddenly, I didn't want to hear any more. I didn't want to listen about this stupid, messed-up school and whatever it did to my father and these people he had so obviously loved back then. But I couldn't protest and I let my dad continue.

"The Red King's children always had a war going on," he whispered, "And we were like its little pawns. Manfred had been the leader of the 'other side.' They did some crazy things." He gulped. "Billy lost his endowment once; Charlie had his father taken away, almost twice; Tancred was _drowned_," Here, my father smiled in some sick humour that scared me, "Albeit, he did come back, but he was still dead for a bit.

"Your mother… she spent the first twelve years of her life under the control of the Bloor's. They _hypnotized_ her for years, made her think she was someone she wasn't. She grew up with a horrible family, and she wasn't even really alive. When we first met her, she was like this… this _skeleton_," my dad chuckled with the same bitter humour as before, "Well then. I fell in love with a skeleton. Isn't that wonderful? That's probably the reason _you're_ so hard-headed."

I smiled lightly, tears beginning to form in my eyes. I'd never been told this of my mother, and I couldn't take it anymore. But somewhere, I knew I needed to hear this.

"We promised," my dad whispered, not even talking to me anymore. His eyes were glassy and far away. I knew he was reminiscing the past, "We promised we wouldn't let our kids go. No matter what, they'd never have to a chance to endure… _that_. And yet… yet they broke that promise."

"Dad…" I asked tentatively, "Why don't you speak to them anymore?"

"Your mother died," he said, emotionless, "I couldn't find the heart to tell them. I had to beg Billy not to tell them. I just… I just lost it. I couldn't bear to look at them, because I'd see everything we'd been through. All of us had been through – including Emma."

We lapsed into silence after that. I let my dad compose himself before I spoke again.

"So… am I going to go?" I asked, generally fearing the answer.

"It's your choice, Sally. I don't want you to go, but it's really your choice," Dad said, his face melancholy, "_Do_ you want to go?"

I wanted so bad to say no. I didn't want to go to the place with the evil headmaster that angered my father and terrorized him and his friends. I didn't want to go to the place that had changed my cousin, among other kids. I didn't want to become a pawn in something that I had nothing to do with.

But there was a tug in my gut, some sort of whispering in my head that said, "They need you."

I had no idea who 'they' were, and I had no idea where the whispering came from, but something caused me to say the one word I _didn't_ want to say – the word that shocked us both.

"Yes."

* * *

><p>"<em>Sally<em>," I heard a sing-song voice call out from beside me the next day. I generally didn't care for Wednesdays, but today I was just absolutely depressed because of my decision to go to Bloor's. I looked up from my lunch, which I had been fiddling with more than I had been actually eating, to see a dark-blonde head with bright green eyes smiling down at me. I gave her a meek smile in return.

"Hey, Cath," I said, trying to be cheerful. She saw through my attempt, but chose not to ask questions… yet.

"Scoot over, Silk," she said, squatting down a little and bumping my hip. I smiled in a sad humour as I moved over a little to my right to make space for Catherine. She set her lunch tray down and looked at me.

And _then_ she began to ask questions.

"Okay, you're upset. My friends are not to be upset. What are you upset?" Catherine asked, concerned. I told her to just wait until everyone else came. And one by one, they did.

First was Brady. His grey eyes were glittering, and his blondish-brown hair was practically bouncing as he was nearly jumping up and down, until he saw me. He instantly sobered his mood, and asked in confusion, "What's up with Sal?" Catherine shook her head and gestured him to sit down and wait.

Chris and Macy came together, arguing about something that had apparently happened in History class. They both stopped instantly when they saw me, but quietly sat down and waited for me to explain.

I smiled at the fact that my friends knew me so well. I hated that I was leaving them.

"I'm transferring to Bloor's," I said, deciding not to wait for Hunter. I decided to tell him separately.

Everyone's mood instantly soured, and they were all obviously upset, but no one looked surprised.

"We all kind of figured this would happen eventually," Brady said after a few minutes of pause, "But that doesn't mean we like it any less."

It was true, that they'd known this would happen. We all became friends when we were nine, and since then, they'd known that I'd probably end up endowed and at Bloor's.

"Well, hey," Catherine said, attempting to be cheerful, "We still get you on weekends."

"And you've still got a bit of time here with us, right?" Macy asked gently, her blue eyes showing almost no emotion. She was being somewhat nice, which was a telltale sign she was upset about something. It made me want to cry that my friends didn't want me to leave this much.

I nodded. "I've got the rest of this week and next week left. Then I'm shipped off to good ol' Bloor's Academy," I stated sourly.

"Well, then," Chris said, shaking his flaxen head, "We've got to make this last week and half worth your while, don't we?"

Everyone smiled at this. Leave it to Chris to have some crazy plan ready for us.

"Hey!" Brady exclaimed suddenly. Everyone looked at him oddly, "There's a party next Friday. Whole school's invited. It'd been the perfect way to say good-bye to Sally!"

Chris and Catherine almost instantly agreed. Macy, on the other hand, groaned, her black hair flopping down with her as she laid her head on the table, "There is _no_ way we going to a _party_ to say good-bye." I agreed with Macy and said as much.

Needless to say, the next twenty minutes was spent trying convincing Macy and me.

Macy, finally having had enough, said, "If I say 'yes,' will you guys shut_ up_?"

"Yes," the other three said cheerfully. Macy sighed, obviously exasperated, and said, "Fine. I'll go."

Catherine jumped up in joy, and cried out, "Yay!" before reaching over the table and trying to hug Macy. Macy backed up, completely grossed out by the gesture. Brady and Chris laughed at her reaction, and I let out a smile.

Instantly, though, I sighed; I officially _had_ to go to this party now. It was a rule. If four out of the five of us were doing something, then the fifth had to come, whether they were willing or not. The only acceptable excuses were if the fifth had a date and/or family thing to do.

Just then, there was a loud, blood-curling scream emitted from somewhere. Chills went through my spine and everyone in the cafeteria froze.

And that was when everything flying. Tables began to move on their own, slamming into walls and into the ceiling. Food went flying about every which way. Students began to cry out and run around, all clearly in panic.

My friends and I jumped up as our table began to shake. We all got up just as it slammed into the table beside it, both of them being pushed into the nearest wall. I heard Chris let out a horrified, whispered, "Bloody _hell_."

The person, whoever was screaming, let out a piercing shriek, before actually speaking.

"I WILL GET HER! SHE WILL NOT TAKE ME AWAY! NOT NOW, NOT EVER!"

The person, obviously a woman, had a chilling voice. It was bad enough that she was screaming, but I could tell even without it, her voice already created the effect of nails on a chalkboard.

Something about it caused me to stop dead. Some sort of… _familiarity_ that had me frozen to the spot.

And, even weirder, I swear (though I was pretty sure I was imagining it) I saw a _goat_.

"Could everyone _please_ head to their next class, immediately? Everyone to their next class, _immediately_," cried out all the supervising teachers. Thankfully, they didn't tell us to remain calm, as they were so obviously panicking themselves.

As Catherine dragged me to Gym class, all I could wonder was, _'What was _that_?'_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: 'Kay, I posted this, and then came back and edited, and then reposted the chapter. **_**Technically**_**, it's not cheating. Leave a thought?**

**Word Count: 3,325**

**Time Posted: 11:59 PM (Edit Posted: Between 12:25 – 12:30 AM)**

**- May :)**


	4. Don't Know Who You Are, But I'm With You

**A/N: 'KAY SO I'M REALLY HAPPY RIGHT NOW BECAUSE I'M FINALLY FINISHING EVERYTHING THAT WAS **_**SUPPOSED**_** TO BE IN THE FIRST CHAPTER BEFORE I STARTED REWRITING.**

… **That glares at me in a very ugly way on MS Word BUT OH WELL. I have a habit of doing that – and by "that," I mean randomly writing in caps in the middle/end of a sentence. Ask my friends Jackie and Nadia. I do it to them all the time when I text them. Anyway – TIME TO READ, CHILDREN.**

**Disclaimer: I feel like I should do this in caps because of everything else, but I won't – because, like I said, it glares in a very ugly way. Anyway, I do not own anything recognizable from this story at all, such as the Charlie Bone characters, Big Time Rush, Taylor Swift, etc. Though, anything unrecognizable (like Sally and her friends) is/are probably mine.**

* * *

><p>"Dad, can you go to my room and grab the clip on my dresser?" I called out from the living room, just sitting on the couch. I didn't need the clop, and normally, if I did, I would've gotten it myself, but I was currently angry with my father, and therefore I was going to make him do my bidding as much as I could.<p>

Yes… I considered making my father grab a clip from my room which would most likely take twenty seconds to a minute to do as my "bidding." And also, yes – I felt pathetic for it.

But somewhere – deep, deep, _deep_ down – it made me feel a little good knowing that I could force my father into doing my "bidding…"

If he agreed – which, knowing my father…

"Uh… which one is it?"

_Would_ do?

I turned my head around in surprise, only to see my father standing there, the clip I wanted in one of his hands. In the other was a… bracelet? I looked at him, _very_ confused.

"What are you doing?" I asked him, baffled.

"Didn't you ask me for a clip?" He asked back, also confused.

"Yeah, but..." I said. How was I supposed to tell him I merely wanted him to do my 'bidding?' "I decided I didn't want it. And that blue thing is a bracelet."

My father sighed, ever-so dramatically, and said, "I don't understand why you're so mad. Most kids get mad when their parents make their curfew earlier, not later." When I merely glared at him, he added, "Okay, do you want to steal one of my manuscripts? Will that make you feel better?"

Yes. My father resorted to tactless bribery when he couldn't understand why I was mad. It's such terrible parenting, no?

"Fine – if you want to make me feel better, you can tell me I'm not allowed to go at _all_," I told him, throwing my hands in the air.

"Sally! _W__hy_ are you being so anti-social?" My dad asked, exasperated.

"I don't want to go to a silly party! That's why!" I cried back, also exasperated.

"Then why are you going?" He questioned, plopping himself on the couch as if he were utterly exhausted – which, for the record, he wasn't. He was being his usual drama queen self. That, and he clearly hoped I would feel so bad that I was causing him such grief that I would agree to quietly go to the party and no longer make a fuss.

Ha – fat chance.

Honestly – you'd expect me (the _teenager_) to be mad at Dad (the _parent_) for _not_ letting me go to the party and giving me an early curfew. But _no_, here I was, being as sour as a lemon, because not _only_ was I allowed to go, but because Dad said I didn't have to be home until _eleven_. You'd also expect my dad to at least be _worried_ about my safety and making sure I don't do anything crazy, like drink or hook-up with some guy.

But once again, _no_ – because it's Annie's party, there's _nothing_ to worry about.

Annie Cortez was a senior who knew everyone in their school and their mother. No – she _literally_ knew _every single_ student in the school as well as one, _if_ not both, of their parents. Annie was also a straight-A student, president of student council, a member of senior band, a cheerleader, on the senior girl's rugby team, volunteered at three different charities a week, _and_ (somehow) managed having a job at a clothing store that every girl in her class wanted.

Oh, and she also got into _every_ university she applied to. With her record, I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was when I found out, but I still was tremendously.

Anyway, since Annie was the freaking angel of our school, _everyone's_ parents had let them go, because there was just _no way_ it would get out of hand. In fact, several parents (my father being an example, sadly) had _encouraged_ their children to go.

Now, a person would probably think I hated Annie with the way I was acting now. That wasn't true – not in the slightest. In fact, I knew Annie better than most people in my year did. A year previous, when I had started at the school, Annie had been my guide. She held the door open when she was walking ahead of me, had made a point to explain the significance of everything that was important to the school, and when she found out she was going to guide a freshman, had actually taken the time to draw me a map of the school so I wouldn't get lost. And yet, Annie had a great sense of humour and was really easy to talk to. Even now, after a year, she still made a point to say 'hi' when she saw me in the halls and tried to make conversation when she could.

So why was I being such a _monello_ about going?

It's because I was fifteen and had no idea how to _act_ at a party. All I knew about parties were from the manuscripts I stole from my father as well as the novels I borrowed from the library and my friends or bought from the bookstore. Oh, and of course all the TV shows I'd seen. They were all stereotypically crazy and out of hand with drunken jocks and people hooking up and causing scandals for the rest of the school year.

So I was either going to be _really_ let down by my expectations or completely, one-hundred-percent spot on. Neither one was a good scenario, because either way, I'd feel out of place. And even though my friends thought this would be a good way to celebrate my last days at school with them, feeling like the odd one out at somebody's party didn't seem like too great an idea to me.

Don't get me wrong, they'd made my last week and a half wonderful. Brady, also being an avid reader, had taken me to the public library on Saturday and we'd spent hours upon hours reading and bugging the librarians. Catherine had taken me shopping for some CD's and we'd danced around the music store when a Big Time Rush song played (even though she didn't watch the show or listen to their music). Macy had dragged me to one of the poetry readings her mother always forced her to go to and we'd laughed the entire way through because the MC had a terrible lisp and we just couldn't help it. Chris had taught me how to set off our principal without getting in trouble. He'd also admitted that _yes_, he _was_ in Self-Improvement, just at a different time from me.

And, speaking of SI, I had handed in my journal that day. It detailed just about everything I hated about that class and I hoped Miss Kestrel had fun reading it.

And Hunter – Hunter had found out later than everybody else, but he'd taken it better than I'd expected. He'd been upset at first, but he'd smiled sadly and said, "Well, I knew this was going to happen eventually. But that school will do better for you than this one can," he then attempted to joke, "At least they don't close down the library."

I was going to miss them _so_ much.

"Dad," I sighed, "I _have_ to unless you say 'no.' Four-out-of-five rule, remember?"

That surprised my dad quite a bit. He looked at me and said, "_Macy_ agreed to this?"

I nodded, "Catherine decided to be annoying and Macy agreed to go if only to make her shut up."

My father nodded slowly. "And you don't want to go, because…?"

"I don't want to spend what is probably my last day with my friends at a party where I could lose them, then end up being alone for the rest of the night and have a miserable last memory with them," I told him.

"Speaking of last day," my dad said, obviously having just suddenly remembered something important, "We got your uniform for Bloor's today. You can try it on when you get home." He looked a little distant, as if he was remembering something else. He also looked as if he wanted to say something more, but held his tongue. I figured it had to do with something that had happened while he was at Bloor's. Ever since our talk at the baseball diamond a week previous, he'd been reminiscing his days at the Academy. I stopped asking where his mind went after about three days.

Suddenly, he came out of whatever memory his mind had been recollecting and tossed the clip he had in his hand to me. I just barely caught it, but did.

"Now, you are _going_ to this party," here, I groaned in protest, "and you are going to do something bad that you will regret and I will be ashamed of you for doing, because that is _normal_ and we want to keep as much of your normality in tact as we possibly can in tact. You're getting a ride with Hunter, right?" He asked. I shook my head and told him Chris' older brother was giving Chris, Macy and I a ride. My dad nodded and continued, "And _since_ you're making a huge deal about this and being all miserable about it, I'm _extending_ your curfew to eleven-thirty," he said smugly, a smirk adorning his currently proud features. I was about to yell out in protest when he paused and finished, "Never mind that last part. Your curfew is eleven again because I'm the parent and I'm not supposed to be okay with this."

I swear I was older than my dad sometimes. It was a scary thought.

* * *

><p>Three hours later, when I was at Annie's house, I wanted to jump for joy and call my dad and laugh at him and do a happy dance. But I also wanted to throw a bazillion punches at the tree beside me and scream and just <em>go home<em>.

Why?

Well – because I had been _right_.

The second we got there, Chris had found the girl from his fifth period that he had a huge crush on and immediately took the opportunity to go talk to her. I turned around to try and call him back only to give up after three seconds. Then, turning back around, I knew only one of two things had happened to Macy.

1 – She'd been drifted away by a train of people that I'd completely missed when I was turned around and had fallen to the floor and been smothered to death.

2 – She went to go sulk in a corner without me.

I found the second thing the more likely scenario. And besides, Annie had come over to talk to me… for a total of seven seconds before she saw someone try to spike her punch bowl and had gone after them in a rage.

Speaking of which – I was also right about the party. I was out of place, because it was just getting out of hand when I got there… which had been an hour ago.

And it didn't help that I hadn't seen Catherine or Brady or Hunter since I'd come… though that might've been a result of the fact I had grabbed a glass of punch (Annie had been successful in making sure it hadn't been spiked) and immediately went outside into her giant backyard and hid behind a couple of trees.

But nobody called to see if I was okay or anything. It bugged me.

I checked around to make sure no one was around. Satisfied in seeing no one, I took out my phone (which doubled as my mp3 player) and began scrolling through my phone to find an appropriate song to match my mood. Then I decided I was too lazy to actually bother doing that, so I instead pressed shuffle in hopes that a mood-matching song would play.

Instead, I got "Ours" by Taylor Swift. I sighed. At least it was something that'd ruin my night more than it already had been ruined. As the light music filled the air around me, I began to sing along. But, seeing as I couldn't sing to save my life, I barely finished the first chorus.

"So don't you worry your pretty little mind, people throw rocks at things that shine…" I trailed off, not wanting to bother anymore.

"And life makes love look hard."

I jumped up in such shock that I actually stood up. Standing there was a boy who I'd never seen before. He had brown hair and was dressed in a much more party-like fashion than I'd been. He had dark-washed jeans and black sneakers on, while he adorned a white t-shirt with a black vest and a red skinny tie.

"Who are _you_?" I asked, slightly on guard, yet self-conscious of my own outfit, which was a pair of jean capris that went to my knees and a red v-neck t-shirt. Overtop, I had a navy blue zip-up hoodie that was probably only a size bigger than it should've been, as well as a pair of dirty grey running shoes.

I knew it was silly to compare our outfits, but with him looking like a rocker and me looking how I do on a daily basis, I felt even more out of place than I'd been feeling before.

The boy tilted his head slightly (and I couldn't help but notice his hair fall in his eyes) as if trying to remember me from somewhere and couldn't do it. He was probably trying to see if I'd ever met him before. With defeat in his eyes (which I couldn't tell the colour of in the dark), he stuck out his hand for me to shake. I almost squirmed away, because though he'd done nothing to make me uncomfortable (minus sneak up on me… and randomly sing Taylor Swift), I had issues with being friendly with total strangers.

"I'm Elliot. It's nice to meet you," he said, putting his hand down, obviously noticing how I refused to touch it. Though, he didn't seem too put off by it. In fact (and I hadn't noticed until then, but…) he kept a constant smile on his face, as if he wasn't put off by _anything_.

Normally, I'd find it creepy that anyone seemed so happy, but Elliot had a really nice smile, and I therefore thought it was endearing.

"Um… you know," he said, his smile twisting into a slight smirk, "When someone introduces themselves, the polite thing to do is to introduce yourself back…"

He trailed off, hoping I would get the message. I did. Gulping, I said, "Lynette."

Well, I wasn't going to give a complete stranger my name. He could be some axe-murdering stalker for all I knew. So I'd given him my mother's middle name. I figured that would be a safe bet, right?

He nodded, his smirk softening to a smile again. He then seemed to remember something and turned a bit red. "Uh, sorry, by the way," he said, "About… you know – just now. The whole 'coming-out-of-nowhere-and-singing-along-to-Taylor-Swift-with-you' thing. It seemed to scare you, with how fast you stood you as an indication."

Now I felt my own cheeks redden. That _was_ kind of embarrassing. "Oh…" I said, trying to compose my dignity without seeming bipolar, "It's no big deal. I just wasn't expecting anyone."

"And obviously handshakes are an issue with you," he said. I thought he was judging me for a second, until I realized that he was actually just trying to make a joke.

"Yeah, kind of," I said, a shy smile creeping up on my face. And completely without my consent as well, which bugged me incessantly. Though I was _not_ about tell this guy about…

"Really?" Elliot asked, his eyebrow quirked, "And why is that?"

'_Nope,'_ I thought, biting my lip slightly, _'Close, but no cigar.'_

"Well, wouldn't _you_ like to know?" I teased, grinning. I didn't know why, because I'd met him literally less than a minute ago and he was still a total stranger…

But I felt strangely comfortable with him.

I sat down, the song still playing, and began picking at the grass. I motioned him to sit down next to me, and he did. "So…" I started, trying to quickly rack my brain for a conversation starter. Well, we _were_ at a party…

"How do you know Annie?" We asked at the same time. I laughed slightly and his grin grew.

"Well," I started, "She goes to my school. She was my guide around the place last year. You?"

"She's my neighbour," Elliot said, "She used to tutor me on weekends."

"You needed tutoring? For what subject?"

"Science – which, by the way, is literally the bane of my existence."

I decided it didn't matter _how_ comfortable I felt around him – he probably would _not_ take well to me hugging him and telling him he was my new best friend because he _understood_. Instead, I went with, "You should meet my uncle. He'll think I possessed you into saying that."

Elliot looked at me oddly. I proceeded to tell him about how my uncle (I was referring to Uncle Billy) loved Science and thought anyone who didn't was crazy… or possessed. He laughed at that.

"Hey, you said you go to school with Annie, right?" Elliot asked. I nodded, and said, "Well, today was my last day with her. I'm changing schools come Monday. My friends thought coming to this thing would be a great way to say goodbye to me, but they all kind of ditched me the second they got here." I stopped. _Why_ had I told him that?

"Ouch," he said, "And I thought my being here was bad. I came because I overheard my parents talking about how if either me or my sister decided to come here, neither of us would have to go to a wedding tomorrow."

"Who's wedding?" I asked, slightly curious.

"Not sure," he shrugged, "Just that it's one of my mom's co-workers who I don't know and don't really _want_ to know."

"I see," I said, merely for lack of anything else to say.

We sat quietly for a second and I realized something. I may not have known Elliot well, but it was a good thing I felt comfortable, because I was probably going to be stuck with him.

I smiled, turned to him, and asked, "Hey. Want to head inside?"

He smiled back and said, "Let's go."

* * *

><p>Elliot and I had found ourselves in front of the punch bowl (we weren't drinking it. God knows what was in that stuff by now) and I was actually enjoying myself at this thing.<p>

"… Okay, so then my sister goes and screams so loud that our cat hid under the couch and refused to leave it for three days," Elliot finished up, chuckling. I, on the other hand, was about to fall over from laughter. I was also mentally thanking myself that I _didn't_ have anything to drink at the moment, because it would probably be coming out my nose and/or result in me choking.

"Your poor cat!" I exclaimed, trying to sound sympathetic, but not succeeding at all as I was still laughing a bit.

"I'll tell it you said that. She'll be pleased to know somebody's thinking about her," he said loudly, trying to be heard over the music. He was smiling again.

I'd realized that this kid was crazily cheerful. He almost _never_ stopped smiling, grinning, or smirking. And he was really easy to talk to. We'd talked about a ton of things we liked, such as movies (I had this strange love for The Princess Diaries, while he had this _thing_, as he described it, for Batman films), books (I told him about the manuscript my dad had given me just last week with the annoying characters and confusing plotline. He told me about this book series that was pulled off the shelves because there were so many readers who were offended by it), TV shows (I practically screamed Big Time Rush at him. But what was crazier was that her told me he watched it too because he was a big Erin Sanders fan and therefore had a crush on Camille. We also both loved Glee and Rookie Blue) and music (once again, Big Time Rush. But we both loved Fall Out Boy, Panic! At The Disco, You Me At Six, All Time Low, Vanessa Carlton, The Veronicas, Anna Nalick, Nickelback, and – he admitted with a grin – Taylor Swift. But that was because his girlfriend was a huge fan).

He hated Science as much as I did, but he loved History. I told him English was my favourite and that thought Science _was_ terrible, Self-Improvement was just as bad. Once I explained the class to him, he was laughing because he thought I was joking – though he realized _pretty_ fast that I wasn't. His "what the hell?" look was pretty funny to see.

"What about you?" He asked, "What crazy stories do you have?"

"Um…" I quickly racked by brain for one, "Oh! This one was actually about a month ago. My boyfriend and I went to the movies, and when we came out, I saw they had this 'help wanted' sign, so I asked for an application at the concession stand. My boyfriend was with me – and keep in mind here, my boyfriend has blond hair, green eyes, about three inches taller than me, and we have _no_ facial recognition to each other whatsoever. So I got the application and the guy goes, 'Would your brother over here like one, too?'"

Elliot bit his lip, trying not to laugh, but his twitching smile gave it away. I smiled at him, and he broke down, almost doubled-over. "Wow," he said, and I could tell he really couldn't think of anything else.

I looked away for a second and saw a clock – which is when I remembered I had to be home by eleven. I quickly took out my phone and saw it was almost quarter-to. I blinked. I had spent about an hour and a half talking to Elliot.

And I didn't want to stop yet, either. But _I_ had argued for an earlier curfew, and therefore, I was going to stick to it. I turned back to him and said, "I hate to pull a Cinderella on you, but I have to get home soon."

He smiled back and said, "You'd only be pulling a Cinderella if you had my name."

I looked at him confused for a second. Elliot said, "I wasn't going to give my real name to some stranger. You could've been some axe-murdering stalker for all I knew."

I laughed, because really?

"Want to know something crazy?" I asked. He nodded, and I continued, "I had the exact same train of thought. So I gave you my mother's middle name."

He laughed and said, "I gave you my _dad's_ middle name."

I smiled, and was about to say something else, when my phone rang. I looked down at it and it read "17 New Messages."

… Wait, what?

I scrolled through them, and saw that they were all "Where are you?" and "Are you okay?" and "Tell us you're not dead, PLEASE tell us you're not dead!" from Chris, Brady, Catherine and Macy… They were sent through a scattered amount of time, but they started about half an hour after we'd gotten here.

'_So, apparently my phone now hides my text messages from me. Wonderful,'_ I thought.

"Is everything alright?" 'Elliot' asked. I explained to him that I had to meet my friends.

"But it was really nice meeting you, _Elliot_," I said.

"Likewise, _Lynette_," he smirked.

With that, I walked away.

* * *

><p>As I left, I tried finding the front door. This is the first time I'd been to Annie's house (which I probably should've mentioned was <em>huge<em>), and so, I had _no_ idea where I was going. I quickly saw a door, and I was strangely compelled to go in.

So I did.

Normally, you'd think I'd lost my senses because the last time I'd been _compelled_ to something, I ended up in pain and screaming and crying and had my father freaking out. But this time, it was that bad. I had just walked into the bathroom.

Granted, it was trashed, but it was still the bathroom.

I looked around. The shower curtain had fallen into the tub, and there were candy wrappers and soda cans littered all over the floor. The sink counter had cosmetics spread all over it, and some of the make-up had spilt into the sink. It was obvious that before the party, Annie and a couple of her friends had probably gotten ready here. After that, people had decided to continue the party it here. I wrinkled my nose at the place. Poor Annie was going to have one hell of a time cleaning up this _pasticcio_. I turned my head over to the mirror and practically jumped out of my skin.

There, in hot pink lipstick, read, "I WILL GET YOU FOR WHAT YOU DID."

I figured some stupid senior wrote it. I rolled my eyes. Annie was _definitely_ going to have a hard time. I quickly picked up the wrappers and cans and put them in the garbage, before _attempting_ (and failing) to put the shower curtain back up. It was the least I could do. I didn't know what to do with the make-up, and knowing me, I'd just wreck it more. My phone chimed and I saw it was another text message. I quickly remembered that I had to get home soon and quickly left to find the front door.

What I didn't know was that the message on the mirror had been written and erased _while_ I was in the room.

* * *

><p>After everything had been sorted out (I had called my friends all to meet me at the front door when I found it, and I had waited outside. When they saw me, they demanded <em>every<em> little detail of where I had been and what had happened to me. I explained to them the whole "being ditched" thing and Macy scolded Chris. When I told her she did the same, she explained that she'd been drifted away by this crowd of people and had almost been smothered to death), I walked inside my house at precisely 10:59, a huge smile on my face.

"Hey, Dad," I called.

"Hey," he said, "You're home later than I'd expect you to be."

I smiled and explained what happened. When I mentioned that the boy had used his father's middle name, he drifted off for a second, but quickly came through and said, "He's a smart kid."

Afterwards, when I was getting ready for bed, Dad called me back down. I walked downstairs in my blue baseball jersey (from being on the junior team last year, and it was still a little bit big on me) and a fair of flannel pants, my hair tied back in a ponytail.

"So," he said, "I got a call today. You know that movie theatre you applied to?"

I nodded. Dad continued, "Well, you got the job."

I stared for a second, then blinked a couple of times, then exclaimed, "_Seriously?_"

Dad nodded. "I was surprised, too," he said, "since they didn't want an interview or anything. I guess they were really desperate to hire so they just took in anyone."

I couldn't tell if I was supposed to be insulted by that or not.

"Anyway, I told them you couldn't do weekdays because of Bloor's, so they agreed you could just do Saturday afternoons. You start next week," he said. He paused, and then said, "Oh, and speaking of Bloor's, I put your uniform in your room. You can go try it on, if you want."

I nodded and walked away, perplexed. I went up to my room, and saw the a little brown package. Quickly, I closed my door and opened it. There was a black skirt that looked like it went to about my knees and a white button-up shirt, which had sleeves that probably went to about my elbow. There was also a pair of black knee high socks, and I already had a pair of black loafers downstairs.

Aunt June had gone crazy when she found out I was going to Bloor's and had taken me shopping for the shoes. She'd tried to get me to buy other things that were probably unnecessary, but I'd resisted. I loved my aunt, I really did – but she was _much_ too trend-loving for my tastes.

I looked down at the package again and saw my tie and cape. Both were the colour purple, which was for Drama.

Dad and I had agreed that since I didn't play any instruments well and I couldn't sing, I wasn't able to go into Music. And because I couldn't do anything artistic (with the exception of painting my backpacks) to save my life, I probably wouldn't be able to go into Art. Drama had been the best option for me. It disappointed me, as I knew Dad had been in Music when he was at Bloor's and my mom had been in Art. But I decided going into the Department neither of my parents had been in would signify a fresh start at the school for me, as well as them.

Quickly, I changed from my pajamas into the entire uniform. Something about it bugged me for a second, but I couldn't place my finger on it. But then I realized the feeling was the same as when I put the black hoodie on.

The flashes started like last time.

I screamed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry it's so short! But I'm going to edit this and add more, so don't worry.**

**Edit (July 16/11): I EDITED IT AND I LIKE IT NOW. And it's longer than the last two chapters, which is an added bonus :) P.S. _Monello_ means "brat" and _pasticcio_ means "mess."**

**Word Count: 2,350 (Post-edit: 5,000)**

**Time Posted: 11:55 PM (Post-edit: 2:45 PM****)**

**- May :)**


	5. The First Time I'd Ever Felt This Lonely

**A/N: is at the bottom.**

* * *

><p>I woke up with sunshine pouring into my room and a pounding headache. Looking over to the wall beside my bed, I checked the date on the calendar that hung there, which told me it was Sunday morning. Turning my head the other way, the clock on my desk flashed '10:37' in red. I groaned. It'd been almost thirty-six hours since the last… <em>incident<em> I'd had with my endowment, and yet I was still a bit stiff. And my head still hurt, though I wasn't sure if it was from the pain or the crying spell that continued for hours afterwards.

My endowment had struck again on Friday evening, but sadly I wouldn't be able to skip school because of the pain it caused me. I'd seen crazy flashes, but this time, they were all of me. I still didn't understand the flashes, but at least this time, I'd only seen myself, which I figured would help me understand it better.

In the first, I was walking onto a purple-coloured bus, nervous and looking for an empty seat. The second one had been of me in a classroom, looking bored as ever – in reality, though, I was anxious because of people looking at me and whispering, and I was attempting to pay attention to the lesson. The next, I'd been in a cafeteria, filled with purple-caped people. I'd liked this one, because I was happy here, and I'd been talking with – who I assumed was – a friend I made at Bloor's. The thing about this one was that the girl I'd been talking to, I'd seen her before – in one of my visions with the sweater. She'd been the curly-haired brunette who'd been scared of something. But this time, she'd been worriless, just as I was.

One I had seen had been odd. I'd seen me excitedly hugging a boy – and not just any boy, either.

I was hugging _Elliot_ – or whatever his name was.

I'd been in pain at the time I saw it, as well as dizzy and crying, but I'd smiled at bit at that one image for a moment before all the rest came – or, what I could manage of a smile, at least. Even now, as I thought about it, my face broke out in a small grin.

I knew it was silly, since I'd only known him about two hours, but the thought of Elliot made me happy. I figured I'd really made a friend. I was kind of sad that I didn't know his real name, but he didn't have mine either. I'd really connected with this guy.

Crap, that sounded really romantic. It wasn't anything like that, really. I just really liked meeting him. He was kind of charming, and honestly – he didn't exactly make anyone want to gauge their eyes out by looking at him.

That didn't help my case. But I _didn't_ have romantic feelings for this guy. Only for Hunter – who was my _boyfriend_ – and no one else.

I sighed and got up, my head still pounding and – quite frankly – killing me. I'd feel weird if I took medicine before I brushed my teeth, but I didn't feel up to brushing my teeth before I took an Advil… or Tylenol – whichever one was supposed to fix headaches.

Walking to my bathroom, the first thing I noticed was that I looked like a mess. My mousey brown hair was very out of place and sticking out at odd angles, while my eyes had dark bags under them. My pajamas were wrinkly, as an effect of me lying in bed, as well as tossing and turning, for practically all of yesterday. _'Stupid pain,'_ I thought irritably.

I sighed, picked up my toothbrush, put toothpaste on it, and began brushing my teeth. The sooner I brushed my teeth and made myself look presentable, the sooner I could take my Advil or Tylenol and made myself look terrible again.

After all, I was going to Bloor's Academy tomorrow. I would just be a physical representation today of how I would be feeling tomorrow.

I had no idea what had possessed me to say I wanted to go. But I was about to find out.

* * *

><p>Monday ended up coming faster than I hoped it would. I'd spent Sunday moping around, packing my things, and stuffing myself with food. Any food was comfort food, and I needed comfort. Therefore, I ate to my heart's content… or my stomach's, technically.<p>

I'd also spent it memorizing my room. The walls that had been a dark, pastel green (yes – something can be dark and pastel at the same time) and my wooden desk right beside my door, which had been the wall adjacent to my closet. The closet had a couple of posters on the doors, which consisted of Big Time Rush (Logan especially), All Time Low, and You Me At Six. Adjacent again to my closet had been the window that rested at the foot of my bed, which was backed into the corner. The last wall had my vanity, with my mirror and dressers. I knew it was silly to try and remember every little detail. But I decided that I wouldn't be here as much, so I might as well try and commit as much of it to memory as I could.

Monday morning, I got up a little earlier than usual, quickly brushed my teeth, and ran downstairs to eat breakfast with Dad in my pajamas. We had made small talk, as we were both nervous and neither of us wanted me to go. I went back upstairs when we were finished, taking my uniform and a towel to the bathroom. When I finished my shower, I stood in front of the mirror wrapped in the towel, anxious to put my uniform on. I didn't want the flashes to come, but I knew they were going to anyway.

So I decided to release my inner girl. I opted to do my hair first.

I spent a good ten minutes blow-drying it on high and when I was satisfied with that, I'd brushed and combed it over and over. I finally put it in a ponytail when I was sure there were no more tangles to be taken out. I contemplated opening and straightening it, but I'd never spent so much time on my hair ever, and while I knew I was stalling, I didn't want to be late. Besides, I decided my ponytail came out nice. Apparently, my hair took pity on me and decided to cooperate. I wasn't sure if that was good or not.

That was when I _had_ to put my uniform on. I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath. I coached myself in my head step-by-step while putting on all my clothes (which, let me tell you, is _very_ awkward) and when I was finished, I clenched my eyes shut in fear.

And… nothing.

There was no flashes, no dizziness, no pain. Nothing out of place, and when I looked in the mirror, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Well, besides the fact that I was wearing a uniform, because I never had before. But that was normal in comparison to what I had been expecting.

I stared blankly at the mirror for a couple of more minutes before breaking out into a giant grin.

_Nothing_ was happening – abso-freaking-lutely _nothing_.

I ran downstairs in my bare feet (I didn't realize until then I'd forgotten to put on my socks), cheering. When I reached my dad, I threw my arms around him in purely overwhelming glee.

"_There's_!_ Nothing_!_ Wrong_!" I merrily cried out, skipping around, "I'm fine and it doesn't hurt and my hair looks good and I can get through the day and the night and the rest of this damned week –"

"Language, Sally," Dad scolded, but the effect of it was foiled by the giant grin on his face.

"– without there being anything wrong with me! I feel _normal_!" I finished.

I danced around some more before remembering I had to go get my socks and ran upstairs. While I was putting them on, my dad called from downstairs and reminded me that I had to go to the bus stop soon.

My happy mood died instantly.

* * *

><p>I sat at my bus stop patiently. I was obviously earlier than the rest of the other kids that went to Bloor's, and so I sat quietly waiting for them. Paige had been informed that I was coming to Bloor's Academy, but seeing as we were in different years and in different departments, she couldn't help me as much as everyone (the two of us included) wanted her to. But we promised we'd see each other at the bus stop.<p>

Finally, after what felt like an eternity (but couldn't have been more than seven and a half minutes), the family of three kids that lived in the Heights came. The oldest, a girl, had a purple cape on, just as I did. The other two boys, however, had green capes on. While the older two paid me no attention, the youngest kept looking at me oddly. Not creepy, but rather in sympathy.

He was the same age as Paige, and it made me feel as if it were her who was looking at me in pity – which reminded me of the day I told her of my endowment…

Which reminded me to wonder where the heck that girl was.

As if on cue, I saw a running blur of blue, brown, green and yellow. When the blur halted, I saw my brunette cousin with her blue cape and a blond boy about my age in a green cape, both catching their breath. When they both came to, the blond boy turned to the family of three and addressed each of them.

"Morning, Darcy," he said to the girl. She – er, Darcy – merely kept looking forward, as if the boy hadn't even acknowledged her. The boy, obviously being used to this, turned to the older boy and smiled.

"Hey, Nigel," he said. Nigel ignored him as well. The blond turned to the youngest, and acknowledged him as well.

"Morning, Ellis," he said. Instead of ignoring him, Ellis smiled slightly, and whispered, "Hi, Travis."

The blond, Travis, then turned to Paige, opened his mouth, then closed it. Paige rolled her eyes. Obviously, they were all used to this routine. Travis turned around again and looked surprised to see me there.

"Who are you?" He asked me, obviously surprised.

"I'm Sally," I said, somewhat shy. I didn't know why, exactly, but I was.

"She's my cousin. Today's her first day at Bloor's," Paige piped up. I smiled. Travis smirked and said, "You have _no_ idea what you're about to get yourself into." And with that, stayed quiet.

After about five minutes of silence, a purple bus – my bus – came in the distance. When it got here, Darcy climbed on quickly, and I hurriedly got on, too. That was when a huge wave of déjà vu hit.

The first vision I had when I put on my uniform Friday night appeared in front of me. Instead of letting it wash over completely, I quickly ran over to the nearest empty seat, which happened to be next to a girl who was sleeping, and sat down. I looked around a bit. Everyone was talking to somebody. Darcy was talking to a blonde girl animatedly, while everyone else cheered and laughed and talked with each other.

I was alone, and then I realized –

I was also, probably, kind of _screwed_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Adding more in a bit, just like last time. My bad :$**

**Word Count: 1,960**

**Time Posted: 11:59 PM**

**- May :)**


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